A long groan escaped him as the young man stretched back in his chair. It wasn’t very often he let down his guard around people, but this one was an exception. It was hard to imagine their first meeting had been so long ago--and happened by her accidentally judo-throwing him into a wall, of all things. She’d offered to make amends by helping him study for an upcoming test and... Well, somehow they’d formed a bizarre friendship from it.
“So, for this problem, you’d... No, wait, that’s not right...”
An exorcist heir and a future Olympian, studying for a Calculus exam.
“Ah, damn it. What am I doing wrong, here?”
He felt like there was a missing punchline somewhere in this.
VALIANT. It's the first word to surface within her unconventional mind whilst cerise eyes peruse juvenescent features. There are no traces of familiarity to be discerned within glistering emeralds. She's unequivocally certain that her sinuous path has ne'er crossed with that of the young woman 'fore her. Otherwise, she'd instantly recall those vermilion tresses. Yet, there's something about the individual that noticeably differs from a typical stranger. For now, she willfully refrains from acknowledging it and instead opts for a topic that she'll feel confident speaking of. ❝ Wherever you came from, I'm betting you were considered a HERO. ❞
send a ‘👄 + character name’ and my muse will talk about that character
“Miss Nikos.”
Oz sinks further back into his chair, myriad of conflicting emotions running through his mind and across his face. In the end it seems it settles on a sad reluctant sort of acceptance. Bitterness stains his smile.
“She’s a stunning individual. Truly one of the kindest, gentlest souls I’ve met. Pyrrha pursues what is kind, what is right, what is good with a reckless abandon that I haven’t seen... in ages. It’s inspiring. It’s worrying. I know too well what that kind of attitude can lead to.”
Fingers start rubbing his eyes.
“And I encouraged it. Fanned the flames. Saw myself in her and.. took advantage knowing she would jump at any attempt to preserve humanity and those she loved, even at great personal cost. I was desperate, the time was desperate, but that’s no excuse. It’s one of the things I regret most. It cost her her life, snuffed out what could’ve been one of the greatest forces of good in this century, and worst of all took her future away from her.”
His hand falls listlessly away from his face. Ozpin heaves a heavy sigh.
“I want her to be happy here, at least. I know she must wrestle with demons, not just borne from her fate but also before that. The loneliness she’s endured, the pedestal people placed her upon. How she seems to apologize for the wind blowing the wrong way. There’s so much. i want to help her, but I don’t know if I deserve to, if I should, of if because of my position if it’d even help.”
“She deserves the truth. I aim on telling her everything, my lies, the reality of our world. Anything I can answer her really. I’ll accept her judgement, whatever it could be- Well, aside from easy forgiveness.”“I want her to know that she deserves so much more- and that she can achieve it and make those who care about her happiest by simply caring for herself. I just don’t know if she can learn that from a hypocrite such as myself.”
Pyrrha was at least more acceptable, out of the other people she had run into so far. A solid 6.5 out of 10. Didn’t change the fact that she was human or that she knew nothing about her.
Still she held some extra respect for them as a warrior though, growing up the way she did, fighting her whole life. She can understand THAT much at least. . . And at least Pyrrha still didn’t know who she was truly. So the words can’t help but fall a little flat.
“I appreciate the thought, truly but . . . I’ve done things that you would find appalling. There’s no need to feel concern for me or try to comfort. I’ve made peace with my path.”
It’s been a long time, or at least—that’s what it feels like. She’s so tired. Her head feels so heavy. She lifts her hand to her forehead as she continues walking unsteadily. Oh god, I feel so sick. Her thoughts drift from Cinder to Pyrrha’s death, to the Pyrrha she knew. It hasn’t crossed her mind yet, what Pyrrha will think of her knowing that some version of her could’ve killed—did, in fact, kill some version Pyrrha.
Her journey seems to stretch on forever. She’s traveling aimlessly by now, but her clouded mind doesn’t even give her the kindness of realizing that. It’s a miracle that she eventually stumbles upon the red-haired girl, but as fate would have it, this isn’t the Pyrrha she knows. But she has no idea yet, and the absolute joy that overwhelms her propels her forward with a sudden, newfound energy.
“Pyrrha!” She shouts, and her throat hurts. This doesn’t stop her as she tries to run toward the other, her feet tripping over the uneven ground. “Pyrrha, are you okay?”
The memories that Cinder has are vague, but they twist and shatter in her mind, one untouchable dream after the other. Her mundane life unravels, turns to embers and flame at its edges—
Cinder (the real Cinder—she assures herself) turns brittle at the impressions of a self that could’ve been—a self that was weak, she insists, weak and without control. (Of course, it is only because she will not—and cannot—admit that the other Cinder was happy despite her early life, that the agency she so desperately desires was held perfectly in the other Cinder’s grasp.) The words of the mysterious voice mail echoes in her thoughts, the risk of death (always a palpable threat) looming larger over her head—an invisible omen of a halo.
If she dies, so will I. If she dies, so will I. If she dies, so will I. In an instant, Cinder slams her fist against the wall, rattling the miscellany in her room, and shouts sharply in frustration. Silence follows, but within it, her loneliness almost begins to speak. Instinct crushes the voice under its heel—her subconscious aware that this was no time to confront her own definitions of agency, of power.
Her rage simmers. She seethes, breathing shakily. She turns her head to stare at the blank screen of her phone. So that they may live a happy life... so that you may preserve whatever happiness you have acquired yourself... What happiness might she have here, knowing now that Ozpin and Pyrrha still live, that in some bastardized form of this world, she cares for them?
How revolting it is, she thinks, for my own life to hinge upon the life of someone I would kill. She moves her hand away from the wall, lets her arm drop to her side. Her hand threatens to shake, so she tightens her fist, bunching the fabric of her dress with her fingers. The headache, which still lingers, reminds her of its presence—and she winces, sucks in air with her teeth. Where would she hide? comes the first thought, and then, comes the answer—as clear as day, as bright as a wildfire, I bet she wouldn’t. She would fight against this instead, like I would.
She feels ill, feverish, running with nowhere in mind, but running madly nonetheless. The alien memory of murdering Pyrrha and delighting in it has pierced her like a violent arrow, the wound of it swelling with obsession. The sound of her friend, wheezing and gasping for life, rings in her ear again and again—endless, like some sick loop of a movie clip.
Her entire body feels wrong, hot—echoing the sensation of power, wielding all that fire and fear. This Cinder, who she once thought she was, is a monster—she can’t remember much of the self-stranger clearly, but there is no doubt in her mind that Cinder is beyond bitterness, beyond justice-seeking.
The woman with whom she shares her face is horrific—A murderer, she thinks, and not of people who deserve it, but of innocents, all for power... Her foot catches against something in the ground and she feels herself sent forward, floating almost in the air, until she crashes into the rough dirt. It scrapes against her face, her knees, her hand. She does not make a sound, and simply lies there— Pyrrha’s frightened, pained eyes. Do you believe in destiny?
She pulls her knees inward, close to her chest, and pushes herself up slowly, anguished. There’s blood, but not a lot of it—A sudden moment of clarity washes over her delirious mind: Why am I running? I need to keep Pyrrha safe.
A voice message. That was what had led Naoto Kurogane on this wild chase.
Supposedly, a ‘copy’ of him, created to believe that he not only was the original Naoto, but that he’d lived in Spirale his entire life, had been infected by some sort of virus. That virus was going to kill them... And, if they died, so would he.
To be honest, they didn’t even need to put stakes like that on his shoulders. Hearing the first bit was more than enough to persuade him into action.
He looked down at his phone, squinting at the location displayed on it. ‘Fibonacci Ward’.
“Gah, stay still, idiot..! What’s making him run from place to place like this?”
His copy had been doing this the past few hours. Never staying in one place, always being just out of Naoto’s reach. He’d be at a total loss to his copy’s motives for this... if he didn’t already have a glimpse into them.
Shortly after he’d woken up this morning, there had been a steady stream of memories flowing into his mind. A life he never got the chance to live. Where he’d been able to live his life as the head of the Terumi family. Where he wasn’t in constant, life-threatening danger. A peaceful life, here in the walls of Spirale.
It was in such bad taste, he wondered if somebody running this place had it in for him.
That aside, it gave him a bit of an idea on where to look. There was little reason for his copy to go anywhere in Fibonacci, unless he was headed back home. But why would he be headed to ‘Naoto Kurogane’s’ home? Why there, and not his estate in Cotes?
He couldn’t figure that out, but it was his best lead. So off he went, arriving at the housing area just a long, tiresome sprint. Pulling up right in front of his house and thoroughly checking the interior to find... nothing.
Not a soul in sight. No alternate self, nothing.
“Alright. Where the hell are you?”
Was his hunch wrong? He stepped outside, wondering where to check next. There wasn’t any other place in the Fibonacci Ward his copy could’ve been checking, if he followed reason. Where was he?
Suddenly, he heard commotion.
“Where... Where are you...?!”
There, coming from the houses further down, he saw a young man bearing traditional Japanese clothes, looking around as though in a frenzy. Not a bizarre sight on its own, until his eyes met the boy’s face. Their eyes locked, mutual gaze frozen as they processed the other’s presence.
Naoto Kurogane and Naoto Terumi locked eyes for that single moment.
And then, Terumi’s expression shifted to pure, unrelenting horror.
“Y-You...!!”
He turned to run.
“Hey, wait!”
But Kurogane was quick to close in on him, quickly grabbing his other self by the arm.
“Let go!!! Lemme go, dammit!!”
“Settle down. We need to talk, you and me.”
That didn’t seem to calm Terumi down any, and the boy continued to struggle.
This was going nowhere.
And Naoto Kurogane’s patience was running thin.
“--I’m not gonna repeat myself.”
“Settle. Down.”
The smell of iron stained the air as Kurogane’s grip tightened. Terumi flinched, turning to see his other self staring him down. Crimson mist surrounded them both, with the original’s piercing red eyes glaring straight into his soul. Suddenly, Naoto Terumi felt any strength he had leaving his body.
“...Damn it...”
It didn’t take long for Naoto to cut to the chase. Using the voicemail as proof, he explained everything. The virus, the potential death awaiting his copy, everything. All the while the copy was forced to listen... Listen as all he believed was crushed right before him. Listen as his very life was reduced to nothing more than some farce--just a stepping stone for some original to move past.
“...”
He was silent, after all was said and done. What could he respond to any of this with?
“And that’s why we need to use this weird app, SGO. If we use this, we can save you. Get you fixed up, cure whatever this weird virus is. All I need from you is for you to let me do this.”
Terumi turned to look at Kurogane as though he’d just said he was going to sprout wings and fly.
“You want me to trust you to do that? To just--to just cram me in some app, is that what you’re saying?!”
“What? No, what I’m saying is that I’m trying to save you! You’re going to die if I don’t do this!”
Kurogane held up the phone, displaying the rather chintzy-looking app interface for his other to see clearly.
“Just tap this button, and we can solve all of this. You can go back to your old life, with your family, your friends, everything. Just like it was.”
And then, something snapped in Terumi.
“--Just like it was?”
“Huh?”
Terumi yanked his arm from Kurogane’s grip, and without any restraint, the boy’s outrage came flooding out.
“How am I supposed to just go back to the way things were like this?! To pretending my life has any sort of purpose?! If I’m supposed to be some... some ‘copy’, then what the hell does it even matter!! I refuse to believe I’m any kind of cheap knock-off of the ‘real’ Naoto!!”
“You keep waving that damn phone around like it’s supposed to mean anything--how do I even know to trust you?! Maybe you’re the copy!! This could all be some elaborate trap! How am I supposed to know you’re the original, how am I supposed to trust you on that?! How am I--”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!”
Kurogane’s voiced boomed in a manner he never thought capable from him.
“...Look. This isn’t about who’s real or who isn’t. Maybe you are the original Naoto. Maybe I am the copy. Who knows? Who cares? That doesn’t mean either of us suddenly doesn’t matter. What does matter, though, is that if I don’t do this, you are going to die. Both of us are going to die. I wouldn’t lie about this, and you can trust me on this, because I know you wouldn’t lie about this, either.”
“Naoto. No matter what, you’re you. I’m me. And we need to work together on this. Okay?”
There was silence between the two of them. Terumi suddenly found himself unable to look his other in the eye. After a few moments of crushing silence, he spoke.
“Pyrrha.”
“Pyrrha? What about her?”
“Pyrrha--The Pyrrha from my world, I need to... I need to know that she’s alright. She’s gotta be caught up in all this too, right? I can’t leave until I know she’s safe from this virus stuff too.”
The Pyrrha from his world? Were they friends in that world, too?
“Pyrrha’s probably out chasing her other self like the rest of us... If I can get in touch with her, that’ll give us a good lead on finding your Pyrrha.”
And so, with Terumi watching him with bated breath, Kurogane flipped open his contacts. After a string of character inputs and a press of the send button, he’d stand, waiting for her response.
“Alright. Now we wait.”
Terumi closed in, placing a hand on his other’s shoulder to peer at his phone.
And, for a split second, Naoto Kurogane felt something. It felt like a shock of some kind, like something had been transferred the moment the two of them made contact. He felt his mind stutter for just a moment, before returning to normal.
Not knowing what exactly it was, he wrote it off as just his other accidentally discharging some build-up static on him, and continued to stare at his notifications.
